


The Summer Soldier

by costsofregret



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:57:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/costsofregret/pseuds/costsofregret
Summary: After Thanos is defeated, some must go ahead while others must be left behind.Speculative story about the end of Avengers 4. Spoilers for Infinity War. You are warned.





	The Summer Soldier

_Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,_  
     _And paid his subjects with a royal wage;_  
_And Nobleness walks in our ways again;_  
_And we have come into our heritage._

     - Rupert Brooke, “The Dead”

The first thing he feels is the sun. Warm rays slice through the trees and their leaves. He awakens fully in between the light and the shade.

The world is different.

“Steve?”

The single word falls quietly, almost silently, into the air. No one answers.

They are back where they started. T’Challa, Sam, Groot wander into his line of vision. The king smiles at the homecoming. Bucky watches him inhale the deep breath, that one you take at home when the full weight of your relief mixes with oxygen and comfort.

“Is it over?” Sam asks. They'd been caught somewhere else. It was another world, a legend they never heard of but now would be tasked with telling and retelling. In a world full of gods, the mythmakers are the ones who pay the price of the story. A brotherhood of storytellers forged in the margins.

“I think we won?” Bucky offers.

“I am groot.”

“Brother?”

The first voice is a known one. They turn to see Shuri standing in the forest’s natural galley way, her expression part astonishment, part mourning, part hopeful belief.

“Shuri,” T’Challa answers with the affection of one gone, gone too long. The small group of the recovered standby as the siblings reunite, caught between turning away and watching in hopes that they too will soon feel such embraces.

“Steve?” Bucky calls out again with a bit more insistence. He doesn’t know when they are.  

He sees Shuri look up at him, but then she quickly glances away.

“Where are the others?” Sam’s question stops him from stepping closer to Shuri, stops him from investigating her expression further.

“It has been some strange days, Sam.”

They all turn and find Natasha staring at them. She has a hesitant smile of welcome, much like Shuri’s. Sam whoops softly and sprints over to her, grabbing her up into his arms. She laughs and returns the hug, but she also catches Bucky’s eye before glimpsing beyond him to T’Challa. Bucky starts to hear other voices, ones he recognizes from the other place. They all returned here. 

“Groot!” The talking raccoon rushes out from the tree line. Bucky watches the reunion. He gets bombarded by the sounds of the multitudes rushing into the field. The faces and voices melding into one overpowering cry of homecoming, of reunion, of restoration, of redemption.

“Steve?” He calls out again, his voice higher now, more contentious, smoldering with a familiar anxiety. He breaks the forest barrier and rushes into the field. There’s the ant guy with his people. There’s Thor with some woman. He looks down as the raccoon and Groot speed past him to a small group of survivors.

And then there’s Stark with the spider kid.

Bucky doesn’t know why he does it, doesn’t understand what makes him start the slow walk across the flattened grass toward him. Stark is patting the kid on the back, hugging him with a blend of relief and love, like all those others who are being embraced. Tony glances up and unlike Shuri and Natasha, he holds Bucky’s gaze. He pats the kid once more and begins his own slow walk toward Bucky.

They come together in the middle of the clearing.

“Barnes,” Stark greets him. Bucky stares at him, sees the hint of the unspoken in the gash on his eyebrow, hears it in the nervous tremble of his lips.

“Steve?” He asks anyway because he has one last shot to pose the question with ignorance.

Stark doesn’t say anything. He stares around at the countryside. Watches the world right itself. Watches balance restored. Bucky waits.

“I hated you for a long time, Barnes. For my father. For my _mother_. For Steve. For the Avengers, OG style. You took a lot away from me, you know?” Stark levels him with a look that tells Bucky he’s trying to get to the point but can’t quite make himself say it. 

Bucky doesn’t respond. There is no apology sincere enough or remorse large enough to repay this debt and he knows it.

 _Just tell me. Just say the words._ He silently commands.

But Stark can’t do it just yet so Bucky remains still.

Stark fiddles with his glasses as he mutters, “Rogers was so intent on saving you, searched for you over two years. Gave up everything for you, so you’d think I’d try to understand that but you killed my parents, Barnes. You get that, right?” He looks to Bucky for understanding.  

Then a deep sigh skitters from his lips as he whispers, “But then he goes and . . .”

 _Here it is_. Bucky takes a quick breath. “He goes and what, Stark?”

Stark shakes his head. “You know, man. Don’t make me say it.”

“He goes and WHAT, Stark?” Bucky has paid a high price. This was too high a price. 100 years of love and partnership. He has earned the fucking words.

“He goes and saves the world, Barnes. One final time. It’s so Rogers.” He rolls his eyes but Bucky sees the sheen of wetness in them. They look away from each other. Bucky didn’t realize there had been so much noise but now it bounces back at him, the happiness flooding the field, drowning him.

He looks at all the people and feels the barricade between them and him. He will never climb this fence.

After a few minutes, he nods. He doesn’t need the details. He knew the world was different. Bucky turns and walks away.

“Barnes!” Stark calls out but Bucky doesn’t turn back around. He heads toward the tree line. He passes Natasha and Sam, who are huddled together, sharing their grief. He senses their gaze as he walks past without sound or word. He passes T’Challa and Shuri, the girl who knew more about his mind and as a result, his agony, than anyone else on the planet, especially now.

The world is different, now.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the small valley. The huts are untouched. The goats bleat at him. He ignores them.

He enters the hut and begins tearing the leather straps from his torso, trying to rip away the war from his skin. He fills a basin with clean water and dumps it over his head, letting the lukewarm liquid pool in his collarbones before he carefully, methodically, unhinges the arm. He lays it down just outside the door. He leaves it there as he crumples onto the threadbare mat.

The world is different.

*********************

No one comes to the valley in the days following. Bucky sets about righting his little corner of the world. He feeds the goats, sets the garden to grow. He tries to smile at the children who say his name with a kind hesitation now. He tries.

He lives the best life he can. He wonders about the serum, if this is it. Will he have to live forever or wait until the next universe destroying villain appears, demands imaginary recompense for imaginary crimes? At night, under the cool African winter moon, he regrets not demanding to know how he died. He wants the pain of it, the imagining of it, so he can set the images into the nightmares of could’ve beens. Then in the morning, before the sun reaches its zenith, he tells himself it’s better, the not knowing.

Weeks pass. Perhaps months.

Life takes back its normalcy. Shuri visits with healing laughter. T’Challa visits with news of the world, the world saved, the world redeemed, the world he is immigrant to. Sam and Natasha visit with their third-party ghost, the one they don’t greet, the anchor that can both ground and drown.

Life passes. The world is different.

One day, as Bucky throws another stack of hay into a pile, he looks up. A figure stands at the top of the hill. He resists the déjà vu.

The figure approaches. Posture straight. Saunter arrogant.  Bucky picks up the next bale of hay. He ignores the arm still resting against the entrance to his home. He ignores the object in the visitor’s hand.

“Barnes.” Tony Stark nears the growing stack and sets his package down. Bucky remains silent as he watches Stark lean his elbow against the roughened and dried blades.

“Stark.”

“Natasha is worried about you.” The non-sequitur doesn’t faze Bucky.

“No reason to.” He shrugs. He shoos one of the goats away. “I’d invite you in,” he nods toward the hut, “but doesn’t really seem like your type of establishment.”

Bucky starts toward the door.

“Barnes.” Stark’s tone stops him. It’s somewhere between urgent and sympathetic.

 _For Steve_ , he tells himself, and then turns back to Tony. He waits.

Stark picks up the shield and holds it out toward Bucky. Bucky stares at it. The slashes from T’Challa’s claws catch the sun’s light, a thin sheen of oil picks it up and casts a rainbow across its face.

“He would want you to have this,” Stark whispers. It’s the closest thing to a human moment the two men will probably ever have.

“I can’t.” Bucky shakes his head. “I’m not. It’s not. I can’t, okay?”

Stark steps closer, now the shield’s lip pushing ever so lightly into Bucky’s chest. “You can. You have to.”

“Why me?”

Stark laughs but it’s tinged with a caustic edge. “Because Steve didn’t save the world, Barnes. He saved you. So the least you can do is be worth it.”

Bucky stands there for a few moments, refusing to touch the vibranium until Stark whispers, “Barnes. Please. I need this.”

Then Bucky understands. They have no one else in the world who will mourn Steve the way they mourn him. He finally relents and reaches out, tracing the cool metal star. He wants to say the name but he can’t. He can’t just yet.

Stark breathes deeply and nods. Bucky takes the shield under his arm and watches Stark’s stance change, going from serious to that well-worn arrogance.

“Okay, one-armed Jesus, I know you like tending the sheep here . . .”

“Goats,” Bucky interrupts.

Stark glares at him. “Goats, sheep, whatever floats your boat, Hair Metal Bucky. Anyway, grab that cool prosthetic and meet me over the hill at 1400. I got the quinjet powered up and ready to take you to a lovely villa in upstate New York.”

Stark bounds away but stops when Bucky calls out, “Stark.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky turns his gaze back to the hut, knowing it was time for the summer soldier to return to duty. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Stark stares at him. The pause becomes almost uncomfortable.

Finally, he nods at the shield under Bucky’s arm.

“Be worth it . . . Captain.” 


End file.
